Don’t make it. Go to Cumbria. Find a pub. Not some fake-ass gastropub that’s just another word for shit. A real pub run by real people. Order their toffee pudding. Order their sherry. Find a table by the fire. Get comfortable. Listen to the two old men talking about everything and nothing and smell the years of spilt beer on the carpet. Read whatever’s covering the shabby wallpaper. Then eat and savor every morsel. When you’re done and a little drunk, put your coat on. Thank the landlord. Walk to wherever you’re staying in the pissing rain.
Go to bed.
Peruse the rest of the fantastical feast
Summoned into festive life through that most beneficent of storytellers, Mr Charles Dickens
As narrated by Sir David Attenborough
Made by Ernest Hemingway
by Sally Rooney
an ode by Rupi Kaur
Penned by Robert Frost
RuPaul spilling the tea
Sung by Michael Bublé
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